


Fixing the World

by Unicoranglais



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mastermind, Angst, Gen, HUGE HUUUUGE SPOILERS, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Mastermind Souda Kazuichi, Spoilers, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicoranglais/pseuds/Unicoranglais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world was broken, Mother told him - and as a gifted mechanic, it was Souda's job to fix it. </p>
<p>(Somewhat AU, Mastermind!Souda, no ships, serious spoilers for the whole game of SDR2, as well as the ending of DR1)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixing the World

 

**Handicaps:** There are but three:

_Mastermind –_ This piece was written for [this contest](http://fav.me/d6kgft1). The contests's theme was to portray one's favourite DR1/SDR2 character as ‘The Mastermind’.

_Ten Things I Wanna Say_  – Only ten pieces of dialogue may be included in the fic.

_Special Liddle Snowfic –_ Choose a character for mastermind purposes that no–one else has picked, and preferably someone who you wouldn’t think would make a very good mastermind. Thus, one cannot pick Sakura, Kirigiri, The 16th Student, Togami, Fukawa, Celestia, Ishimaru, Junko, Kirigiri, Naegi or Monobear from the first game, nor Komaeda, Kurzuryuu, Chihiro, Sonia, Akane, Nanami, or Hinata from the second (gallery results taken from the 23rd December). 

**Listening:** A different track was used for each section, of which there are six. For memory’s sake, I’ll list them here – it’s not necessary to listen to any of these, though if you like you can listen to one or all of them or whatever. The last track was also used for the editing; Skrillrex’s  _Bangarang_  and Jurassic 5's  _Thin Line_ were also used on occasion to break the pace whenever I found myself getting too monotonous in my writing and slipping into incoherency, which thankfully wasn't something that happened too often with this piece.

ThePianoGuys –  _Moonlight_

Lindsey Stirling –  _Shadows_

Two Steps From Hell –  _El Dorado_

ThePianoGuys –  _Code Name Vivaldi_

Prague Philharmonic –  _Skyfall_

Two Steps From Hell –  _United We Stand (Divided We Fall)_

* * *

**Fixing the World**

**_0._ **

As Souda's world crumbled around him, he stood in the office beside Mother – not that she was  _related_ to him, but she had taken the place of his biological parents, calling herself 'Mother' until he accepted it. It made sense, the gangly teen's brainwashed mind repeated dully to itself like some sort of captive parakeet – Junko Enoshima was indeed Mother, having ticked all the boxes on some sort of mental checklist for  _mothering_. She was the woman who had nurtured him ever since he had come to Hope's peak with a future loss and shaky, the person who had taught him the glorious way of despair, tending to him as though he was her own heir despite the hundreds of other children in her care – she had led him along a dark road that he danced on still, remaining loyal to her even now. Yes, she was Mother to Souda, and for this reason the gangly teenager still gazed lovingly at her through his large, thick–framed, ebony spectacles, brushing back a flowing plait of hair that was almost as pink as hers (though not naturally), before flashing her a tiny, curious smile of teeth he’d had sharpened himself, suffering right through the painful experience so that he could appear to be a little more like his beloved idol. No other students had these molars; for no–one dared imitate him and his still–developing look, they were all too  _scared_ to, scared because he was strong, strong strong just like Mother had taught him–

“Son...”

–and just like that, the boy snapped to instant attention, his gaze intensifying and his thoughts on Mother, Mother, only Mother. It was true, the word was a whisper – and yet that single word of acknowledgement brought a warm rush to the teenager’s heart, corresponding to the warm flush in his cheeks. Perhaps he should have expected this most honorable title – no, he  _definitely_ should have expected it! After all, he told himself, simply  _everyone_  knew that he, Kazuichi Souda, was without a doubt the most intimidating of any of the students, gifted with the amazing ability to build colossal titans from heaps of otherwise useless junk, crafting rubbish and filth with almost unholy talent into magnificent killing machines that practically  _harvested_ despair. In that blackened mind of his, there was simply no question that the once–timid, often picked on little boy had become one of the strongest of the students – no, _the_  strongest of any of the students, even when counted amongst his fellows, the other elite members of the Fifteen; those that had fallen into true despair, each considered Junko Enoshima’s worthy successor in their own right.

_And... Since she has acknowledged that I am her son..._

“Mother... Will  _I_ be the one to inherit your talent?”, the teenager breathed, his hands shaking a little in excitement as he gazed greedily about the grey room of the principal’s office, walls painted with bright pinks that would forever remind him of dear, dear Mother – both the one before him now, and the chubby, pink–haired lady that Souda had executed in this room, as part of his initiation into the Fifteen. Becoming the bearer of the title ' _Super–High–School–Level Despair_ ' when Mother's days were over was what he’d always dreamed of (or at least, had dreamed of after every last one of his dreams had been shattered) – the ability to pass on true, undisputed despair to others was the mechanic's greatest ambition, all he had ever wanted in life (or at least, in this life  _after_ his old life)–

 “You are a very, very special person”, Mother purred, reaching out with one hand to stroke Souda's neck; and he froze like a rabbit in response to her snakelike touch, those icy cold fingers flickering and gliding over his fragile, pale skin, long fingernails catching and pulling at little folds as they dug in a little. When she drew back a little, looking him up and and down, the mechanic could only stare wordlessly at the other teenager, his eyes wide and hands trembling; wanting desperately to say  _something_  - but what, he did not know, and never did work it out. Mother merely smiled in the face of his shock, as though this was a simple gesture, barely meaningful – but to Souda, it was much, more. To be caressed by the very bearer of despair – why, that was almost as good a thing as  _becoming_  the bearer of Junko's ability, even if the girl's touch  _was_ a little terrifying. “Your talent... It’s simply gorgeous.”

“I–It’s nothing compared to yours”, he croaked, doing his best to remain humble and  _not_ grin like a shark as Mother ran her fingers under the collar of his white singlet, tracing over the lines and curves she found there. Her enemies were banging on her door now, but the thumps sounded so very  _dull_ , compared to the thudding of his heart, throwing itself desperately at its owner's chest over and over in its excitement, caused by the fact that Souda's idol was all alone in the room with him, stroking him and touching him and giving him all her attention for once. “M–my talent i–isn’t despair...”

“No... It isn’t. But – the world is a machine, isn’t it? A broken machine...”

Mother leaned in close, even as They came crashing through the door, and her little disciple’s world came crashing down with the dart that hit him in the shoulder. Falling to his knees before the girl as the drug worked its way through his body, he looked up at her, ears straining to catch her final words before she died – and not a pretty death, either, what with Komaeda’s single ‘hope–inducing’ shot ringing out drowning out the mechanic’s scream of warning, and the charge of the Fifteen coming a second later. It was a gruesome sight to behold, even by the teenager's brainwashed standards – there were, fourteen teenagers, all fairly good-looking in their own rights, crying out joyfully, as they tore the fashionista’s frail frame to pieces in the mad fight over Mother's body parts, leaving nothing for the mechanic to remember her but for perhaps the slight pink stain on the plush grey carpet, the extra dashes of pink on the already pink-smeared walls, both sights disappearing with the loss of the teenager's vision...

“... _fix it..._ ”

...and of course, her dying words, which he found were burned into his very soul, repeating endlessly with the thudding chant of his heart –  _fix it, fix it, fix it_ – a sound that left nearly-unconscious teenager in awe of Mother's skills.

_No amount of that silly memory–wiping technology can stop me from remembering those words_ , he decided, chest puffing out a little in pride, and a tiny smile tugging at his lip  _– I'm going to fix the world!_ _–_ even as he sank the rest of the way into oblivion.

 

* * *

**_I._ **

Standing before the scene of the death, with Monobear’s wild laughs echoing in his ears (“Upupupupupu!”, the robot shrieks in Owari's face when the latter attempts to shut it up, the creature managing to sound every bit as obnoxious as Mother’s old toy used to –  _perfect_ ), the mechanic looks as shocked as the most extreme definition of the word 'shocked' could possibly imply; to the others in the room, he’s horrified, disgusted, even terrified. In the wake of the gory execution, Souda leans back as far as he can from the taunting screen, mouth wide and screaming–

–but inside, he’s _laughing,_  giggling so much that the kid's sides almost split from the effort to keep his true feelings hidden, and he nearly dies of asphyxiation when he gets back to his little unit, chest heaving as he struggles to breathe for laughing – because let’s face it, that was a  _damned good one_  he pulled there. Now in the safety of his private cabin, Souda leans forwards in anticipation of the death as he watches the replay for the fifth time, drinking in the details – everything looks so  _flawless_ , so _beautiful,_  and it’s all his doing.

_Mother would be so very proud of me..._

Thinking back on what had happened, Souda finds that much to his annoyance, his plan to kill Komaeda didn’t go  _quite_  as it should have, what with Hanamura killing the pesky Nameless One instead of the intended target – but at least the mechanic got to kill the annoying little chef, who to be honest kind of  _deserved_  it. He was perverted, he was a little creepy, and he hadn’t even killed his target in a very despair–inducing way – a skewer through the chest was hardly anything to be proud of, especially from someone whose talent was not 'Super–High–School–Level Shish Kebab Maker'. No, Souda’s way of murder was far, far more skillful, to the point where it was an  _honor_ for Hanamura to have even experienced it; the way of the mechanic yielded a method of execution that proved to be so very elaborate that when it had debuted, the others had been left wondering if the mastermind was some wealthy outsider – when really he was right under their very noses, plotting the next kill. Their voices had risen in worry as they tried to figure out who was their puppetmaster, and  _why_ , and it was all he could do not to howl with laughter at their stupidity back then, like he does now, in a long series of barking, hyena–like cackles that rack his wiry frame, his shoulders shaking until he thinks that they might come loose.

Oh, the plans he has for them next, such  _exciting_ plans – plans that as he gets bolder, will surely require setpieces far more spectacular than the precious Monobear doll of Junko’s he's replicated to carry out his orders, the simple helicopter and chains he used to execute Hanamura just a few hours ago, or even the huge beasts of steel which he’s crafted to stop the others from trying to leave or explore their prison until he sees fit for them to do so.  No, he has much,  _much_  more elaborate things in mind than those mere trinkets – integral parts of his plan to destroy the others, leaving them in the wake of a crushing, humiliating defeat as he leaves this game, this machine–like world, as Junko’s only heir.

The more violent ones of the Fifteen would kill him if they knew any of that, of course – but fortunately, they remember nothing of him, not just yet. He knows why, too, for when he first came here, he took them as strangers – but as irony would have it, he’d remembered everything with  _Hinata’s_  words; that innocent “Can’t you fix it?” in reference to a broken boat bringing back so, so many memories, forcing Souda to quickly leave the scene with a few rushed words, and run down to some deserted beach or other to scream in the face of the  _truth, the horrible, unbelievable, unacceptab..._

_...no..._

_...the glorious, glorious truth_ , he tells himself, his eyes narrowing as they did that day, focused on some target unseen – and as Hanamura dies yet again on his television set, he looks into the piggish eyes of the chef, listens to his final pained scream with the stony expression of a judge who has just passed a sentence. As the cook falls, however, such a comparison is hardly suitable – giving into his ever–growing insanity, Souda grins triumphantly, the distorted reflection of his sharp white teeth in the screen appearing almost like Mother’s smile to him. This simile pleases the pink–haired youth when he notices it, and he pauses the video a split second before the chef is lost to the world forever, gazing at the pretty picture of that small white form in amongst the red lava almost... _lustfully_. Of course, he lusts not for the little pervert, but more for the what fun he’ll have, fighting his way to the top of the pack with wrench swinging, as the once–timid boy  _wrenches_ control from the hands of the pack of rivals he calls the Fifteen, their screams of despair when they go almost as horrible as the wrench–related puns he’ll be able to make at their expense, and almost as ear–splitting as the screams of the machinery that he’s going to push to its very limits, using it to  _kill_ , killing and killing until he stands above them all –  _literally_ , he decides, staking his claim on a pile of bloody and mangled limbs, and with arms spread-eagled, he will at long last declare himself the new  _Father_ of Hope’s Peak (yes, what a lovely bell  _that_ rings)–

–and then, holding out the remote control for the television straight out in front in a ritualistic gesture that would have looked a lot more impressive, Kazuichi Souda’s lips part in a faint whisper ( _“die”_ , he says, and the world obeys his will like a well–oiled machine, and he can't help but smile inside, for when he gets out it will all be like this) – and the video unpauses with his bidding, Teruteru Hanamura falling the final distance into the heart of the volcano, only to respawn for the purpose of dying a few seconds later in the endless loops of the video.

And Souda’s shoulders shake in silent laughter, because he knows full well that he did it, he did it, he it–

– _and boy, does it feel good_

– _and Mother would be so damned proud_ _  
_

_–and he wants more, more, **more–**_

 

* * *

**_II._ **

The first thing Souda does after the glory of the second trial is to wash himself, stepping out of the shower in his black thong without even bothering to dry off, just as Peko wasn’t able to – a misstep only made possible by the mechanic’s removing all the towels from the bathhouse in advance. The cheap pink dye from the island’s store runs out of his hair with the water, dripping all over the white bedcovers of his bed as the gangly teenager settles down upon it, pretending for some minutes that the pink liquid dribbling all over his pale skin is in fact the swordswoman’s blood before he clicks on the remote to enjoy the puppet show he commandeered himself, his smile going wider with every passing second. Oh, he’s always _liked_  the girl, but in death he  _loves_ her – the look on her face as she gazes desperately into the camera of the robot is despairing enough to give the teenager shivers, a little saliva falling onto the pink–spattered covers as Souda stares right back at her, the same sick smile he shared with Hanamura’s visage flickering across his shark–like features when her eyes close at last. He loves that moment the most, the moment where he  _won,_  despite her various attempts to escape his traps, and he watches it again, and again, and again – he’s absolutely addicted to her death, a sublime masterpiece if there ever was one.

_Mother would be proud_ , he tells himself with just a hint of arrogance (or at least – by  _his_  standards, it’s just a hint).  _Mother would be so, so proud of me..._

After perhaps a hundred such clips of the girl’s death have been viewed (a feat possible seeing as each clip is from a slightly different camera angle, a slightly different camera in a slightly different robot) and done a lot of drooling, Souda relaxes back on the bed at last, staring at the ceiling with eyes the colour of blood (contacts they may be, but that doesn’t phase him in the slightest, his eyes are still that alluring neon pink which almost glows, Mother’s favourite colour), as he tells himself that he  _likes_ this, likes tearing girls from limb to limb, likes watching them die no matter how much the instincts of his past self squeal indignantly at the thought. He fixates his gaze on the screen, reminding himself that it’s  _good_ that another two of his rivals are dead, and even if they  _were_ pretty _,_ they were prettier in death–

–and  _besides,_  even his stupid, stupid past–self–that–he–will–be–crushing–soon can’t help but sigh in relief at the thought that the swordswoman’s dead now – the move to take down the two most logical of the Fifteen was a dangerous one indeed, and one that nearly exposed Souda for what he was. With her memories of a worse time partially awoken, Peko was undoubtedly a major threat to Souda even if she didn’t know it, and her final gambit caught the mechanic completely by surprise. The mechanic had predicted what she would do up to that point, certainly – killing Koizumi with the baseball bat, leaving the mask behind at the scene, getting out the window with the help of her trusty practice sword, pretending to be a famed serial killer during the trial, the lot – but he had sorely underestimated her connection with Kurzuryuu, hadn’t expected her form of despair to be so very  _twisted_ , so horrifically tainted with hope and love for her young charge that eventually that love would take her over altogether.  In that moment where she had proclaimed that she would take everyone but her master with her, the mechanic had felt a brief stab of something cold, something that reminded him of Ju–  _Mother’s_  icy touch, something he had never felt since Mother, but had experience then in such a quantity that it hurt – it was what could only be described as  _fear_. It was a brief moment, certainly, a tiny bump that was quickly smoothed over when Souda's machines ripped the girl apart, but all the same, it was a stab of emotion that made the teen’s whole body freeze and stiffen. The fear, it was so  _powerful_  – for those few seconds, he was scared of the danger he was in, the danger she presented, the  _danger..._

_–memory surges, and Mother’s fingers dance a tattoo on the soft, vulnerable skin of his neck–_

_...actually, I think I’d like some more of that_ , he decides, and smirks with the thought, baring his teeth and licking his lips as his sick mind begins to drift away from his latest victim and towards the people he would like to rip lives from, almost plaintively wondering who he should kill next.

 

* * *

**_III._ **

_Boy, do the girls put on a show,_ Souda thinks idly to himself, staring raptly as Tsumiki practically climaxes during the third of his carefully planned executions, greedily drinking in the gory sight of the girl’s insides boiling and outsides freezing as she exits the atmosphere and flies into space. The mechanic can’t help but purr at all the irony the case and its execution created, quietly congratulating himself – for not only is it rather ironic that the wimpy little girl should be the murderer, the bullied turning viciously on the bully, but Tsumiki’s murdering Saionji was an act that reminds Souda of what he had done himself, during his initiation ceremony into the Fifteen – and then, much more recently, when he’d had her executed for bullying  _him_ , betraying him and spitting in the face of the carefully–laid plans he had made.

You see, as murderous and as insane as Tsumiki was... perhaps she would have  _lived_ , if only she hadn’t betrayed him. She was a girl he’d have tolerated, if only she’d been more obedient – if she had done his bidding and stuck to the plan he had laid out in front of her, the mechanic would surely have rescued her from her fate and brought her to some safe place, just as he’d promised – but  _no_ , she had somehow decided that it would be for the best to kill Ibukiand not Komaeda, despite Souda enjoying the company of the latter, and having a very good reason for disposing of the latter. You see, the pale–haired boy’s growing insanity and vigilante behavior were making him harder and harder to predict, and despite his great intelligence, there was clearly no way that he would ever join the mechanic’s side in the fight against hope. If Souda was to escape and the world was to be fixed, he had to get Komaeda first; and so, having infected Komaeda with the despair virus, he had informed Tsumiki of the plan he’d worked so hard on–

–which she’d tossed in his face, making  _sure_ that he couldn’t interfere with her own plan by declaring a quarantine due to the despair virus, sending him away. She’d abused the camera system  _he’d_ set up for  _her_ , murdered Saionji in the way Komaeda was supposed to go, then put Ibuki in Saionji’s noose. That the nurse had been killed so painfully was a sweet thing indeed to the mechanic, because by derailing his plans she’d nearly exposed him for what he was, a slow smile pulling at the edge of Nanami’s lip as the non–member presumably hoped against hope that for the good of her precious little world, the mechanic’s trueidentity would be revealed without the girl needing to step in. When nothing came of the fact that it was in fact  _Souda_ who had set up those cameras in such a way that they could be abused the way Tsumiki had done, the girl’s shoulders seemed to sag a little, though of course she glared at him as she always did.

_You’re not even entertaining any more... I think I’ll kill you and Komaeda next_.

Again, his past self cries out against his current actions and his future plans, but it is a weak, weak cry now, weakened by what it has seen and its own constant struggling; the mechanic is teetering on the very edge of true  _despair_ , and he knows it, urging himself to leap over the edge–

_No, no, no– but... but Mother...Yes, for Mother, I’d do anything... No–one will miss Nanami, she’s not really a person anyway–_

And with that, he turns his attention back to where Tsumiki looks lovingly at the camera – at  _him_ – expecting a savior that never comes. The look on her face, the despair in her eyes as she realizes that she really is going to die –  _this stuff is completely addictive_ , he realizes, and yet he hardly cares, instead watching the tape loop and loop, his mind looking for a way to catch and kill that girl, the once–vocal mewling of his past self completely gone now, as he falls deeper and deeper into the always alluring, ever–pulling spiral of despair.

Glancing out the window, he sees a certain dark mage, scarf pulled up and over his features, offering his hamsters up to the sky as that well somehow help him. “OH MIGHTY GODS, PLEASE TAKE THIS HUMBLE SERVANT WITH HIS FOUR DARK GODS OF DARKNESS AND DESTUCTION TO A BETTER PLACE!”, the young animal trainer yowls – and without warning, the mechanic begins to laugh at some joke which only he can understand, shoulders shaking in silent mirth as he throws his head back, little whining snorts coming from his nose that eventually grow into an all–out fit of giggles.

_Of course...!_

 

* * *

**_IV._ **

As the others fill their bellies with much–needed food, one teenager’s bread roll goes utterly untouched, slowly going stale and hard as it sits on top of the television screen. Face down on the bed, beanie thrown callously to one side, his head stuffed under his pillow, Kazuichi Souda makes it known with a series of low, muffled screams of frustration that he is officially very,  _very_ much sick of Nagito Komaeda, the pale brat that laughs mockingly in the mechanic’s face, dragging with him like some diseased and limping rat the stupid, disgusting luck the kid actually  _bothers_  calling a talent. Long does Souda sniff and snivel at the thought that despite his very best efforts to achieve a different outcome, Komaeda still walks alive, the boy's every ignorant step bringing him a little closer to the traitor he has sworn to find and hunt down. 

Had everything gone to plan, self–proclaimed ‘dark wizard’ Gundam Tanaka would have surely killed Nanami and been saved during his execution, becoming Souda's best hope of having an ally; whilst Komaeda would have oh-so-conveniently committed suicide, falling prey to the allures of the Final Dead Room and leaving with a neat, bloodied bullet hole where his right ear should have been. The mechanic would have laughed and danced on the graves of his two worst enemies, if only the plan had gone  _right_ ; if he hadn't tangled the puppet strings, he'd be gloating right now, relishing his victory, celebrating– 

–but no, this plan has gone completely and  _utterly_  wrong, the end result being so very undesirable and so horribly frustrating that Souda screams once more at the mere thought of it: Not only are both the pale brat and Monomi's little pain in the hindquarters  _still_ alive and both after his head,  _Tanaka_  is dead – and to make matters that much worse, the decision was  _his choice._

You see, according to the mechanic’s plans, Komaeda _should_  have died when he had played Russian Roulette with that gun – but  _no_ , his incorrigible luck meant that the boy had gone and picked up the one Souda had meant for the animal handler to have played with, this being a safe little weapon that wouldn’t fire when the trigger was pulled, regardless of where the bullets were. The animal handler, meanwhile, had taken up the  _functioning_ gun, and pressed it against his head without a word spoken to Monomi, causing the pink–haired youth’s heart to nearly stop altogether. Unable to interfere, unable to tear his eyes away from the awful sight, Souda could only watch the action unfold on the tiny screen he'd smuggled into the funhouse with eyes wide and staring in horror, thin fingers gripping at his bedcovers and twisting them as though he was wringing someone’s neck –  _Komaeda’s_ neck, he decided, because that brat needed to  _die_ , and die soon, and die, die, diediediedie _die_ –

–as though to spite his scream, Tanaka had calmly lowered the gun away from his head, smiling enigmatically into the camera. 

"Do you see? Your weapons are no match for  _I_ , the humble servant of the Four Dark Gods!"

And as annoying as his words had buzzed in the mechanic's ears, Souda couldn't help but feel completely relieved, even as he had staggered from his room, dragging his blanket around him like some sort of bizarre cape as he snuck away to meet with his possible future ally, heart singing out at the prospect that at long last, he might have a trustworthy partner in cri–

"No." 

With that single word, Souda's luck had reversed. Why Tanaka had flat–out  _refused_ his generous offer of help in murdering Komaeda shortly after he had won the dangerous gamble, the pinkette had absolutely no clue (and  _still_  doesn’t, a fact which leaves him roaring into his pillow in a show of frustration – he’s the  _mastermind_ , damn it, damn it dammnitdammitdammit  _damn you Tanaka!_ ). Things had only gotten worse from there; for the animal handler – having flatly informed the mechanic at the entrance of the secret tunnel that an almighty dark mage such as  _he_ would never,  _ever_ , have stooped so low as to actually request aid from some mere Muggle – had then proceeded to carry out an entire murder all on his own. He hadn't required any of Souda’s cunning to have made a plan that basically blew everything the mechanic had clear out of the water, so to speak – and of course, without access to his surveillance equipment, even the _mastermind_  hadn’t been able to tell who had destroyed the robot (whose loyal brand of stupidity had, incidentally been helping the mechanic to hide his identity, making Nidai's loss something that Souda was Not Happy about). He had suspected the enigmatic animal trainer of 'killing' the machine, certainly, but suspecting wasn’t  _knowing_ , something which frustrated Souda so much that he wound up lashing out at Tanaka on more than one occasion under the guise of a petty romance with Sonia.

To be honest, the only decent part of the trial for the mastermind had been when Souda was asked to examine the robot’s dented remains, the blue robot equivalent of blood dripping over his pale hands as he pretended to look for clues, but was in reality squeezing at every last valve he could find, reaching deeper and deeper inside the battered metal shell until his arms and sleeves were coated up to the shoulders in the stuff. Fishing around inside the dead body, fingers slick with dark liquid, he’d even been able to smile in front of the others and have them think that he was still on their side – for even  _before_ he’d fallen into despair, he’d always loved taking things apart, and Nidai certainly counted as a ‘thing’ in this case.

_Yes,_  the mechanic decides with a low grumble, moving his head out and under from the pillow for a few minutes, his breath coming in raggedy gasps as his body threatens to have a total panic attack from recounting this horrible failure in all its terrible glory.  _Taking apart Nidai_ – _that was a good feeling!_ , he reminds himself, clawing for the silver lining as best he can –  _but after that_ , his mind taunts him, _you know what happened after that bit_ – and he breaks down again, staring down at his pillow as he coughs and whines, wishing sorely that the white pillow was pink, neon pink, dyed right through with Komaeda's blood–

– and oh, oh,  _oh_ , how he wishes now that Tanaka  _hadn’t_ killed Nidai after all, or that he’d at least killed Komaeda to save Souda a world of pain. Even if the guy hadn’t exactly been on the mechanic’s side at the time, he would have been so much fun to toy with, might even have been a major  _help_ now where with less people for others to suspect, the pink–haired boy knows full well that he’ll be struggling not to appear traitorous. But no – Tanaka had killed  _himself_ in the middle of his own fake death sequence, stopping his own heart with some strange magic circle just before the large foam horns of the charging bulls could pretend to gore him, splitting open the blood packs the machines had strapped on under his clothes before they put him out on the plains to ‘die’. It was as though the guy had  _known_ that Souda wanted him alive now, and had given him a sound ‘Take that!’ to his face, shown everyone how useless the mechanic was–

_–no, no, NO,_ Souda snarls silently, baring his teeth at the wall his bed rests against for a long, horrible moment before he begins to beat his head into the pillow, over and over and over and over and  _over–_

– he’s just had a  _fantastic_ idea, an idea that must have popped into his mind as he smashed his face into the rough surface of his blanket for the umpteenth time - and he freezes on the spot for a long moment with the sudden thought. Buried as it might be in the covers, his face breaks out into a horrible smile all the same; for the idea is just that  _perfect_  to the psychotic teenager. Slowly, slowly, the pink–haired mechanic raises his head from his Tanaka–induced fit to stare at the guy’s frozen face on his television screen, in the noble animal trainer's very final moment before he cast the killing curse of the circle upon himself, himself,  _himself..._

_That’s how I’ll kill you, Nagito Komaeda!_

...and the cabin echoes with the harsh, hyena–like barks of Souda's laugh, as he contemplates the glory that is his end-game.

_Mother would be so proud._

 

* * *

**_V._ **

_It’s over_ , he smiles to himself, for once not in his cabin after the amazing, amazing result of the fifth trial – he’s instead standing in his perfect end-game, staring up the low-res hulk that is calling itself Mother (and it  _is_ Mother, just a very distant echo of her) and trying very hard not to cackle. At long last, Nanami and Komaeda have crushed each other’s hopes, and now with no more murders to solve, everyone feels that he, Kazuichi Souda, is a legitimate good guy. The handful of people he hasn’t bothered killing yet – Hinata, Kurzuryuu, Sonia, and Owari –have come together as somewhat uneasy allies to face the ‘ultimate evil’ or whatever, and they all think that evil is the elephant–sized girl in the room who is currently yowling in defeat as the others all press their buttons, Junko Enoshima.

_It's over_ , he grins inwardly, his facial expression in the real world being sadly mistaken for something along the lines of  _happy_  - and happy Souda is, albeit for all the worst reasons. How can anyone know that the  _real_ evil here is in fact Kazuichi Souda, one of the most trustedmembers of Hinata’s little friend-circle? His act has held, and held well, for not even the Super–High–School–Level  _Detective_  has worked out the truth, and even the mechanic’s greatest enemy, Makoto Naegi the bearer–of–hope, is unaware of what is really going on, Mother’s aura of despair completely masking whatever emotions happen to be visible behind the blood–pink contacts Souda still wears almost religiously. The mastermind looks around at the others one last time before he declares his victory; there they are, all determined never to return to their despair states, all hoping that he’ll press his button, hoping for their happy endings,  _hoping_  – and he knows that he’s won. These hope–infected people will surely never rise to anywhere near the levels of despair that they had once achieved – at last, he is the last of Mother’s heirs and heiresses!

_It's over_ , he repeats once again, struggling not to let his smile in the outside world go sharklike before he can make his move; it would hurt indeed, to have victory snatched from his hands at the very last minute. He takes a deep breath (again, mistaken by the others for some sort of case of nerves) - all Souda has to do now is kill her, kill Mother, and he may claim his victory over her dead body. A thousand thoughts flash through his mind , as his finger hesitates for a split second – the first time he met Mother, in the wake of his initiation, then the times they'd shared together (does he really want to let those go forever?) – and then the  _last_ time he saw her, her fingers so cold around his neck, the bullet going through her head, showing to all the world how very useless and  _mortal_ Mother was. She had lived once; what right did she have to live  _twice_ , when her son had outshone her?

_It's over_ , he smirks to himself, and Souda lets go of his own act at last, sharklike teeth baring in a savage grin as he presses the button to kill her, revelling in the frightened noises the others make at his sudden change of expression. He hardly cares about those normal people anymore, merely grins, even as the world begins to fade away at the edges. 

_You are a very, very special person_ , she had told him that day – and Mother’s  _right_ , he decides; he  _is_ special, special enough that he should stand tall above his rivals at last, returning to the real world to take his place unchallenged as...  _Father_.  Yes, that is what he will call himself; though of course, the name is merely so that the other students will have some level of familiarity when they meet him – the mechanic is hardly some pale, shaking imitation of Mother. Perhaps she was the original bearer of Despair, and that was her talent – but you see, Souda is  far more special than she is, or ever was; perhaps Junko Enoshima had started all this, but she has been caught and trapped here, while the mechanic runs free. He runs free, because he’s special, special,  _special–_

_and_

_it's_

_over_

–and the button presses down with a satisfying  _click_  –  _I’m more special than you_ , he screams at himself,  _special, special,_   _speCIAL_  – and his doubts slide away with the world, his act, and the very last of sanity.

_It's over_ , he smiles, then laughs at the world he's just left. 

_It's over, over overoveroveroveroVER_

_ovERsAVEmeMOTHER_

_It's **over!**_

Kazuichi Souda stands there, in the void that is his perfect endgame, laughing at the four surviving losers as they stare back at him in total shock – though of course, it's far too late for anyone to do anything about it now, since the little group is now leaving this virtual world behind, heading back to the  _real_ world, the one mechanic had sworn he’d fix all those days ago. At long last, the pink–haired teenager has won the sick game he’s played with his rivals – he’s killed most of the Fifteen and discouraged the remainder from so much as lifting a finger against him, crushed even Owari’s fiery spirit. In fact, if he squints a little in the whiteness, Souda can just about see the crown coming towards him, the one Mother always wore, and he cries out for it, reaching for his well–deserved gold like a small child reaches for its mother’s embrace. He is, at last, the sole heir to Junko Enoshima’s tremendous talent – and with a sick smile that almost rips his face in half, he realizes that he can hardly wait to fix this broken world, just as Mother ordered him to right before she died the first time.

_Now, all I have to do_

_fix everything_

_**fix  world** _

**_fIX iT_ **

**_..._ **

_(the_

_credits  
_

_come)  
_

_(and_

_they_

_say)_

****

** GAME...OVER **

****

**P.I.C.K**... **G.A.M.E...F.I.N.I.S.H?**

 

  
**P** eko  **I** mposter  **C** hiaki  **K** azuchi... 

  
**G** undam  **A** kane  **M** ahiru/ **M** ikan  **E** noshima... 

  
**F** uyuhiko  **I** buki  **N** agito/ **N** ekomaru  **I** zuru  **S** onia  **H** iyoko/ **H** ajime/ **H** anamura? 

 


End file.
